at last. Yes, this had to come, sooner or later.
things i will no longer take for granted:
::washing machines that do not require hand wringing of clothing
::washing machines that CLEAN
::large, thick, luxurious towels (can you tell what I'm dreaming about)
::SOFAS
::carpet and not wearing shoes indoors
::música... (damn those robbers)
::gin (specifically, gin and tonic; more specifically, gin and tonic in 616)
::friends who speak ENGLISH
::asian american community (and people not calling me "chinita")
::clean bathroom floors
::pianos
In other news, I have gotten quite good at making fires and cooking with a wood stove, probably because in order to eat I have to do both. I have also bought a cell phone (if you are in Chile, call me! (09)7689.2815), finally.
The rain and the wind are beautiful. Walking in mist is wonderful, and hitchhiking into town is even better. I love nice people.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Saturday, December 5, 2009
hats
can say a lot. The 60-something taxi driver who drove me the 5km from Ancud to Fundo Lechagua, where I now am, was wearing a hat that said "STONED to the BONE," which I thought was hilarious but which he, I'm sure, didn't understand at all. It probably can from one of the many secondhand shops that sell American and European clothes, which seem to be either rejects from familiar stores or used clothing sent overseas.
The man who lives here and takes care of the pigs, chickens, and ducks (there are pigs, chickens, and ducks!! I'm still trying to convince the owner of the farm to have an asado with some peking ducks) always wears an orange hard hat. As far as I can tell from my three days here, there is no real danger of falling hard objects in any part of this fundo, since there are no coconut trees or construction equipment and all the birds seem to be very adept at flying. But, cada loco tiene su tema, as they say here in Chile, and as I probably spelled atrociously.
And Juan Ignacio, the owner here at Fundo Lechagua, always wears an old leather cowboy hat, which occasionally falls off into piles of compost while he's driving the tiller-turned-tower and looks like Indiana Jones may have once claimed it. (Though the hat is not as cool as his shoes, which are big fluffy dogs maybe the size of my head, that he wears around the house.)
I'm still looking for the perfect hat for myself. So far I haven't really needed one, but it does actually seem to be colder here, 1300 km south of Valpo, and if I really am going to head farther south I'm going to need some real gear.
In any case, it is beautiful here on Chiloé (yes, I made it!). The bus took a very efficient ferry from the mainland to Chiloé as apparently there are no bridges (as the padre here says, otherwise it wouldn't really be an island, cierto?), and deposited me here. From the hill where the grapevines are, I can see the ocean, and Ancud, not as picturesque but still spread across hills and looking a little bit like my childhood idea of an island pueblo.
Weirdly, I've started feeling nostalgic for things like driving through Germantown during winter break in the cold, seeing bare trees in Maryland, and coming home to my dorm room in 616 in the evenings. ALSO OH MY GOD I ALMOST FORGOT
The NY State Supreme Court has rejected Columbia's attempt to use eminent domain against businesses still operating in its projected expansion area in West Harlem. Oh shitt!! Four years of my life, hundreds of hours and thoughts and pains and frustration, vindicated. Look at that. I know the fight still continues, but finally someone has publicly and officially recognized the blatant hypocrisies and inconsistencies of Columbia's expansion rhetoric and actions. I was shouting with joy when I read the article, but unfortunately could not share my elation with anyone except our three dogs, who did not seem to understand what the fuss was about. This is one moment where I regretted being in the middle of rural Chile instead of New York.
Ahh... the power of the people won't stop!
The man who lives here and takes care of the pigs, chickens, and ducks (there are pigs, chickens, and ducks!! I'm still trying to convince the owner of the farm to have an asado with some peking ducks) always wears an orange hard hat. As far as I can tell from my three days here, there is no real danger of falling hard objects in any part of this fundo, since there are no coconut trees or construction equipment and all the birds seem to be very adept at flying. But, cada loco tiene su tema, as they say here in Chile, and as I probably spelled atrociously.
And Juan Ignacio, the owner here at Fundo Lechagua, always wears an old leather cowboy hat, which occasionally falls off into piles of compost while he's driving the tiller-turned-tower and looks like Indiana Jones may have once claimed it. (Though the hat is not as cool as his shoes, which are big fluffy dogs maybe the size of my head, that he wears around the house.)
I'm still looking for the perfect hat for myself. So far I haven't really needed one, but it does actually seem to be colder here, 1300 km south of Valpo, and if I really am going to head farther south I'm going to need some real gear.
In any case, it is beautiful here on Chiloé (yes, I made it!). The bus took a very efficient ferry from the mainland to Chiloé as apparently there are no bridges (as the padre here says, otherwise it wouldn't really be an island, cierto?), and deposited me here. From the hill where the grapevines are, I can see the ocean, and Ancud, not as picturesque but still spread across hills and looking a little bit like my childhood idea of an island pueblo.
Weirdly, I've started feeling nostalgic for things like driving through Germantown during winter break in the cold, seeing bare trees in Maryland, and coming home to my dorm room in 616 in the evenings. ALSO OH MY GOD I ALMOST FORGOT
The NY State Supreme Court has rejected Columbia's attempt to use eminent domain against businesses still operating in its projected expansion area in West Harlem. Oh shitt!! Four years of my life, hundreds of hours and thoughts and pains and frustration, vindicated. Look at that. I know the fight still continues, but finally someone has publicly and officially recognized the blatant hypocrisies and inconsistencies of Columbia's expansion rhetoric and actions. I was shouting with joy when I read the article, but unfortunately could not share my elation with anyone except our three dogs, who did not seem to understand what the fuss was about. This is one moment where I regretted being in the middle of rural Chile instead of New York.
Ahh... the power of the people won't stop!
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
movimiento
Back in Chile. It is actually comforting to hear Chilean Spanish again, after straining my ears for two days trying to understand the Argentinians who ran the hostel I stayed at in San Martín de Los Andes--the "ll" that becomes a "je" or "che" sound distracted me so much that I found myself only hearing this strange new tone and failing to actually understand what was being said. Also, in my head, I kept hearing Larry's impression of Argentinians, which made me want to laugh, but usually at completely inappropriate times.
In any case, Argentina was pretty similar to Chile, except the food was oh so much better. I met a tall German named Thomas and a crazy Spaniard named Carlos, and last night we shared (a lot of) red wine and Argentinian beef which we cooked over a fire in our hostel. Que bakan! ...which actually means something different in Argentina; in Chile, "bakan" is like the slang word "cool," whereas apparently in Argentina, it means someone who always wins or gets the girl or comes out on top. Also, instead of saying "una luka" for 1mil pesos, they say "un mango," like the fruit. This I like.
Before going to Argentina, I managed to miss an alarm and had to hitchhike to a national park near Pucon since I missed the bus... but which turned out to be maybe the best thing that could have happened, since I was picked up by a school group from Temuco and got to ride up with them all the way to the base of Volcan Villarrica. They called me their "amiga magnifica de los Estados Unidos." Then I spent the afternoon hiking with a guide in the park, walking through paths where lava had run and beneath waterfalls in the misty climate of the volcano. We could see the clouds lifting briefly above the lake from where we were...
The guide also took me to the Ojos of Caburgua, which are incredibly powerful falls, cascading into bluuue water, where we saw some crazy Canadians and United Statesians kayaking over the falls. Caburgua Lake, where the Ojos originate from, is the definition of a lake. I don't think I could dream a more perfect lake. Apparently the Chilean president Bachallet and presidencial candidate Piñera have houses on the lake as well. I would die happy there, I think.
But now I am in Valdivia, where Kuntsman is brewed, and where three rivers come together to form what used to be the southernmost border of the Spanish empire. There is water everywhere, especially since it is also raining and misting at the same time. I guess I should get used to this, seeing how I'll be living on an island for then ext month... though there's something soothing and perhaps even more gorgeous about stormy days over water. One day I'll get these film pictures online! For now you will have to imagine.
In any case, Argentina was pretty similar to Chile, except the food was oh so much better. I met a tall German named Thomas and a crazy Spaniard named Carlos, and last night we shared (a lot of) red wine and Argentinian beef which we cooked over a fire in our hostel. Que bakan! ...which actually means something different in Argentina; in Chile, "bakan" is like the slang word "cool," whereas apparently in Argentina, it means someone who always wins or gets the girl or comes out on top. Also, instead of saying "una luka" for 1mil pesos, they say "un mango," like the fruit. This I like.
Before going to Argentina, I managed to miss an alarm and had to hitchhike to a national park near Pucon since I missed the bus... but which turned out to be maybe the best thing that could have happened, since I was picked up by a school group from Temuco and got to ride up with them all the way to the base of Volcan Villarrica. They called me their "amiga magnifica de los Estados Unidos." Then I spent the afternoon hiking with a guide in the park, walking through paths where lava had run and beneath waterfalls in the misty climate of the volcano. We could see the clouds lifting briefly above the lake from where we were...
The guide also took me to the Ojos of Caburgua, which are incredibly powerful falls, cascading into bluuue water, where we saw some crazy Canadians and United Statesians kayaking over the falls. Caburgua Lake, where the Ojos originate from, is the definition of a lake. I don't think I could dream a more perfect lake. Apparently the Chilean president Bachallet and presidencial candidate Piñera have houses on the lake as well. I would die happy there, I think.
But now I am in Valdivia, where Kuntsman is brewed, and where three rivers come together to form what used to be the southernmost border of the Spanish empire. There is water everywhere, especially since it is also raining and misting at the same time. I guess I should get used to this, seeing how I'll be living on an island for then ext month... though there's something soothing and perhaps even more gorgeous about stormy days over water. One day I'll get these film pictures online! For now you will have to imagine.
Friday, November 27, 2009
on the edge
...of this thin country, of a lake, of the election...
Ahora estoy en Pucón, a little touristy lakeside town on the shores of clean clean Lake Villarrica and in the shadow of Volcán Villarrica, one of the most active volcanoes in the Americans and a really magnificent earthern mass (still covered in white white snow!) to behold from a hostel window.
I've already left Concepción (where the omnipresent Bernardo O'Higgins announced independence from the Spanish crown) and Temuco (where Pablo Neruda grew up, among green hills and beside a growing railroad).
I'm almost sad that I'm leaving Pucón on Sunday, since I saw a lifesize cardboard cutout of Sebastian Piñera on (what other but) Calle O'Higgins today, announcing his arrival on Sunday at noon to Pucón. I would love to stay here for that, with the same curiosity I would have had for a McCain rally, but my visa renewal calls, and I have to head across the border to avoid fees I can't afford.
Oh, Piñera. Even his slogans piss me off. Let's compare:
Piñera: Así queremos Chile --> This is how we want Chile.
This wouldn't bother me as much if it didn't follow sayings like "Narcos, tienen días contados," or, "Drug traffickers, you have numbered days." Let's attack the problem at the shallowest end, and present an uncompromising idea of how the national culture should look and be.
Marcos Ominami:Sigue el cambio --> Follow the change.
All right, a little repetitive, a little unoriginal, a little too Obamaesque for me, but at least he's not imposing anything on me.
Frei: Vamos a vivir mejor --> We are going to live better.
Or Vota con el corazón --> Vote with the heart.
We are going to live better! So much hope! So little constriction! Vote with your heart! Ok, that's a little too Disney, but it's so much more convincing that he cares about the voter.
Not to say that Frei would be the best choice. His track record seems spotty, especially given that he was president before and wasn't super popular. But he does want a new constitution (the constitution hasn't changed since Pinochet), and to recognize the Mapuches, and to expand health care and education in ways that seem doable.
We'll see what happens. I haven't seen any big signs for Arrate, the Communist candidate, but he'll certainly get at least a percentage of the votes. ...That's my very sparse political commentary for the week. I'll return to beautiful sights in my next post, especially after visiting the Huerquehue National Park, I promise.
Ahora estoy en Pucón, a little touristy lakeside town on the shores of clean clean Lake Villarrica and in the shadow of Volcán Villarrica, one of the most active volcanoes in the Americans and a really magnificent earthern mass (still covered in white white snow!) to behold from a hostel window.
I've already left Concepción (where the omnipresent Bernardo O'Higgins announced independence from the Spanish crown) and Temuco (where Pablo Neruda grew up, among green hills and beside a growing railroad).
I'm almost sad that I'm leaving Pucón on Sunday, since I saw a lifesize cardboard cutout of Sebastian Piñera on (what other but) Calle O'Higgins today, announcing his arrival on Sunday at noon to Pucón. I would love to stay here for that, with the same curiosity I would have had for a McCain rally, but my visa renewal calls, and I have to head across the border to avoid fees I can't afford.
Oh, Piñera. Even his slogans piss me off. Let's compare:
Piñera: Así queremos Chile --> This is how we want Chile.
This wouldn't bother me as much if it didn't follow sayings like "Narcos, tienen días contados," or, "Drug traffickers, you have numbered days." Let's attack the problem at the shallowest end, and present an uncompromising idea of how the national culture should look and be.
Marcos Ominami:Sigue el cambio --> Follow the change.
All right, a little repetitive, a little unoriginal, a little too Obamaesque for me, but at least he's not imposing anything on me.
Frei: Vamos a vivir mejor --> We are going to live better.
Or Vota con el corazón --> Vote with the heart.
We are going to live better! So much hope! So little constriction! Vote with your heart! Ok, that's a little too Disney, but it's so much more convincing that he cares about the voter.
Not to say that Frei would be the best choice. His track record seems spotty, especially given that he was president before and wasn't super popular. But he does want a new constitution (the constitution hasn't changed since Pinochet), and to recognize the Mapuches, and to expand health care and education in ways that seem doable.
We'll see what happens. I haven't seen any big signs for Arrate, the Communist candidate, but he'll certainly get at least a percentage of the votes. ...That's my very sparse political commentary for the week. I'll return to beautiful sights in my next post, especially after visiting the Huerquehue National Park, I promise.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
desde la quinta hasta la octavo
Me fui!
I have left the fifth region and found myself in the eighth (I think, or ninth..) in Concepción--which Chileans, in good Chilean style, have shortened to Conce in familiar speech.
It's funny that in these last few weeks before the election, Valpo, a city known for its left leaning and brilliant graffitti, has become cluttered with these neatly constructed campaign signs (most commonly a white plastic background to pictures of smiling, well-dressed candidates on a wooden frame), while Concepción, whose gigantic supermarkets have been the most striking feature so far (there's even one called "BIGGER", I kid you not), is full of bold, colorful graffitti featuring names of candidates.
I'll be in Chiloé (the largest island in Chile) for the election. Piñera, the neighborly conservative candidate, apparently owns half of the island. It will be interesting.
Today I went to a battleship! From 1879! Mira:
I think it would not have been as cool if it were not as old. The Monitor Huascar was in the last war with Peru, the War of the Pacific, and was actually a Peruvian ship, captured by the Chileans and now on display as a show of brotherhood (not sure where the logic is in that). I had a nice conversation with a naval person, who seemed confused why I would travel alone, and was called "tía" by a little girl who wanted me to show her around. I tried to imagine myself as captain of this ship, which held up to 180 people. I couldn't.
Anyways, tomorrow, I leave again, this time for Temuco, and maybe Pucon. Wooo..!
I have left the fifth region and found myself in the eighth (I think, or ninth..) in Concepción--which Chileans, in good Chilean style, have shortened to Conce in familiar speech.
It's funny that in these last few weeks before the election, Valpo, a city known for its left leaning and brilliant graffitti, has become cluttered with these neatly constructed campaign signs (most commonly a white plastic background to pictures of smiling, well-dressed candidates on a wooden frame), while Concepción, whose gigantic supermarkets have been the most striking feature so far (there's even one called "BIGGER", I kid you not), is full of bold, colorful graffitti featuring names of candidates.
I'll be in Chiloé (the largest island in Chile) for the election. Piñera, the neighborly conservative candidate, apparently owns half of the island. It will be interesting.
Today I went to a battleship! From 1879! Mira:
I think it would not have been as cool if it were not as old. The Monitor Huascar was in the last war with Peru, the War of the Pacific, and was actually a Peruvian ship, captured by the Chileans and now on display as a show of brotherhood (not sure where the logic is in that). I had a nice conversation with a naval person, who seemed confused why I would travel alone, and was called "tía" by a little girl who wanted me to show her around. I tried to imagine myself as captain of this ship, which held up to 180 people. I couldn't.
Anyways, tomorrow, I leave again, this time for Temuco, and maybe Pucon. Wooo..!
Sunday, November 15, 2009
why valpo is a kickass city
Yes, I am in Valparaíso again (on a Chilean keyboard, so I can type accents, whee!). Yes, I am supposed to go south, to Chiloé island. No, I don't know when I am going, because I have to wait for a package that should have been here last week. Entonces, the fate (...date) of my next travel rests with coordination between the US and Chilean postal systems. Vamos a ver que pasara.
BUT. At least I can spend more time with people here, and at least this city is brimming with continuous festivals and ridiculous events, now that it is spring. After a beautiful day with Gisselle, Meg, and Britain eating glorious seafood empanadas and sunning on the beach in Concon, I went to Plaza Sotomayor which has been partly transformed into "Villa Container" for the Festival Teatro Container, an urban artistic intervention. There are now a collection of shipping containers stacked in the plaza, and tonight there were four women who swung and twirled and danced and flipped to the rhythm of expertly mixed electronic music, connected by bungee cord to the top of the containers. Why is it that New York City sponsors expensive and somewhat wasteful waterfalls, and from the Chilean government we get endless festivals like this one and the one I ran into two weeks ago, Festival Tsonami, which featured groups of people producing electronic music in various plazas...? Public art (that brings people in, employs artists, and interacts with the city) is so important!
Anyways, I will pass some sunny windy days here, I think, with my newly purchased, 6mil pesos (approximately 12US$) non digital camara which may or may not work and lacks even a zoom. Ojala I will find my way south soon. My plan is to head to Chillán but quien sabe, we shall see what the next weeks hold.
BUT. At least I can spend more time with people here, and at least this city is brimming with continuous festivals and ridiculous events, now that it is spring. After a beautiful day with Gisselle, Meg, and Britain eating glorious seafood empanadas and sunning on the beach in Concon, I went to Plaza Sotomayor which has been partly transformed into "Villa Container" for the Festival Teatro Container, an urban artistic intervention. There are now a collection of shipping containers stacked in the plaza, and tonight there were four women who swung and twirled and danced and flipped to the rhythm of expertly mixed electronic music, connected by bungee cord to the top of the containers. Why is it that New York City sponsors expensive and somewhat wasteful waterfalls, and from the Chilean government we get endless festivals like this one and the one I ran into two weeks ago, Festival Tsonami, which featured groups of people producing electronic music in various plazas...? Public art (that brings people in, employs artists, and interacts with the city) is so important!
Anyways, I will pass some sunny windy days here, I think, with my newly purchased, 6mil pesos (approximately 12US$) non digital camara which may or may not work and lacks even a zoom. Ojala I will find my way south soon. My plan is to head to Chillán but quien sabe, we shall see what the next weeks hold.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
partidos
WWOOFer one and three (in relation to when I arrived, me being two) have departed. Now that my Olmue world has shifted, I feel less grounded, less tied to this place and time. For a while it felt like nothing was moving--I wouldn't call the feeling stagnancy, but something more like continuity. Which I suppose is still motion, but you know what I mean. Now, I feel anxious to go forward, south, elsewhere. And I still find it pretty amazing that as long as you put yourself on a moving vehicle, you can continue to do simple things like sit, read, eat, and sleep, and within a few hours you can put your feet down in a different city.
Departure is a strange thing. I've lived together with these two WWOOFers for the past five or six weeks. Besides the short trip they took last weekend, we have been almost constantly together: eating, working, driving, short trips to other cities. Now that they are gone, I am not sure where and how to place myself. Ademas, this weekend I have to say goodbye to everyone I've met in Valparaiso, since I am departing Region V next week. I'm trying to wrap my head around this idea of never seeing people again. I have thoughts of constantly returning to Chile, of spending boatloads to be in Valpo for New Year's, and I think part of me is afraid of being part of something that doesn't promise perpetuity. It's tiring, and difficult, and somewhat painful to constantly adjust my patterns of being, but I suppose it's also wonderful that people can make connections that continue to affect them in such a short time.
Maybe that's part of why I was a history major: this small fear that things, places, people, importances will be forgotten. Pablo Neruda says forgetting is so long, I hope he's right.
In any case. The other day, while shoveling dirt in heat so strong it was almost visible, I watched sweat from my face pooling in my sunglasses and thought about China Men, by Maxine Hong Kingston (which I inexplicably found in the library of the Institute where Britain and Meg work), and about the men who cleared Hawaii for sugar cane fields and the men who blasted through the Rockies to lay railroad track. To give so much for the stuff of dreams. They knew our country with their bodies, their aches and their fortitude. And now I am learning a small, tiny, tiny part of Chile with my shovel. Until next week, and then perhaps I will learn the Pacific...!
Departure is a strange thing. I've lived together with these two WWOOFers for the past five or six weeks. Besides the short trip they took last weekend, we have been almost constantly together: eating, working, driving, short trips to other cities. Now that they are gone, I am not sure where and how to place myself. Ademas, this weekend I have to say goodbye to everyone I've met in Valparaiso, since I am departing Region V next week. I'm trying to wrap my head around this idea of never seeing people again. I have thoughts of constantly returning to Chile, of spending boatloads to be in Valpo for New Year's, and I think part of me is afraid of being part of something that doesn't promise perpetuity. It's tiring, and difficult, and somewhat painful to constantly adjust my patterns of being, but I suppose it's also wonderful that people can make connections that continue to affect them in such a short time.
Maybe that's part of why I was a history major: this small fear that things, places, people, importances will be forgotten. Pablo Neruda says forgetting is so long, I hope he's right.
In any case. The other day, while shoveling dirt in heat so strong it was almost visible, I watched sweat from my face pooling in my sunglasses and thought about China Men, by Maxine Hong Kingston (which I inexplicably found in the library of the Institute where Britain and Meg work), and about the men who cleared Hawaii for sugar cane fields and the men who blasted through the Rockies to lay railroad track. To give so much for the stuff of dreams. They knew our country with their bodies, their aches and their fortitude. And now I am learning a small, tiny, tiny part of Chile with my shovel. Until next week, and then perhaps I will learn the Pacific...!
Sunday, November 1, 2009
hace dos meses...!
Feliiiiz!
Yo he pasado dos meses en Sur America. Dos meses! Mucho tiempo! Y habria mas!
So many things have happened. Last week, we sweated under some hot hot sun and irrigated a field where we will plant somewhere near thirty thousand horn fruit plants. I can now dig trenches, lay pipe, and connect drip lines. Things you will never learn in Morningside Heights.
This weekend was full of unexpected goodness. I witnessed my first futbol game in Chile: Universidad de Catolica vs. Universidad de Chile. It wasn't even really a contest--Universidad de Catolica had some pretty sweet footwork and coordination which even my untrained eyes could appreciate.
After the game, Jeremy and I managed to put together last minute costumes that turned out quite well--he as a maid with a kickass rainbow duster and me as Dionysusa (how would you feminize that?) with a sarang-turned-toga and a homemade wreath (supplemented by flowers from nearby parks). At the Halloween party of some fellow WWOOFers who had stayed at our farm earlier, I had some profound conversations with Jesus from the future and two of his disciples (Judas and Peter), plus a French diablo with a trash bag cape. Maybe one of the highlights of the night was when Osama Bin Laden gave us a ride home.
And then today, on the Dia de los Muertos, while the committed Chileans paid their respects in cemeteries, us gringos (plus one Chileno) made our own pilgrimage to Oktoberfest and tried some excellent local beer and sausage.
:)
I'm beginning to love the way that speaking Spanish draws breath from different spaces in my throat. There is such emphasis on vowels, to the point where I feel like consonants just signify different ways to launch into a prolonged vowel sound: que riiiiiico or even simple question words, like cual, which feels like a love affair between u and a, held together in the space between the curve of your tongue and the roof of your mouth by a precariously placed l. In English, I feel like vowels are so often buried in the firmness and definitive sounds of consonants: you don't even hear the vowels in that word.
In any case, Meg has arrived! And I have found a possible next farm, on Chiloe island, with vineyards and animals and seafood. I think I will slowly make my way down there next, and soon. Olmue gives life but it will continue without me.
Yo he pasado dos meses en Sur America. Dos meses! Mucho tiempo! Y habria mas!
So many things have happened. Last week, we sweated under some hot hot sun and irrigated a field where we will plant somewhere near thirty thousand horn fruit plants. I can now dig trenches, lay pipe, and connect drip lines. Things you will never learn in Morningside Heights.
This weekend was full of unexpected goodness. I witnessed my first futbol game in Chile: Universidad de Catolica vs. Universidad de Chile. It wasn't even really a contest--Universidad de Catolica had some pretty sweet footwork and coordination which even my untrained eyes could appreciate.
After the game, Jeremy and I managed to put together last minute costumes that turned out quite well--he as a maid with a kickass rainbow duster and me as Dionysusa (how would you feminize that?) with a sarang-turned-toga and a homemade wreath (supplemented by flowers from nearby parks). At the Halloween party of some fellow WWOOFers who had stayed at our farm earlier, I had some profound conversations with Jesus from the future and two of his disciples (Judas and Peter), plus a French diablo with a trash bag cape. Maybe one of the highlights of the night was when Osama Bin Laden gave us a ride home.
And then today, on the Dia de los Muertos, while the committed Chileans paid their respects in cemeteries, us gringos (plus one Chileno) made our own pilgrimage to Oktoberfest and tried some excellent local beer and sausage.
:)
I'm beginning to love the way that speaking Spanish draws breath from different spaces in my throat. There is such emphasis on vowels, to the point where I feel like consonants just signify different ways to launch into a prolonged vowel sound: que riiiiiico or even simple question words, like cual, which feels like a love affair between u and a, held together in the space between the curve of your tongue and the roof of your mouth by a precariously placed l. In English, I feel like vowels are so often buried in the firmness and definitive sounds of consonants: you don't even hear the vowels in that word.
In any case, Meg has arrived! And I have found a possible next farm, on Chiloe island, with vineyards and animals and seafood. I think I will slowly make my way down there next, and soon. Olmue gives life but it will continue without me.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
suerte
Yesterday morning, the two other WWOOF volunteers (a new one has arrived, from Oregon!), Steve (one of the farm managers), Larry (a caretaker), and I picked 500kg of avocados (or paltas, as they're called here). Oh shit, that's more than 1000 pounds of avocados, my friends. Needless to say, I passed un bueno tiempo that morning, climbing trees and finding so many beautiful fruits.
From our back field where the avocado trees grow, you can see La Campana, the mountain that Meg and I climbed, and the mountain range it sits in rising around. I felt like I was walking through an earthen bowl, carrying crates of avocados and trying not to step on any perros accompanying me.
It has been good, feeling the sun on my back, eating meals as a WWOOF family, learning Spanish from The Clinic (a leftist newspaper that makes fun of ... everything). It seems a little ironic, or at least unexpected, that the greater part of farming so far has meant tearing green things out of the earth (weeds) in order to let a small number grow. But I also feel like the sun is absorbing my creative energy... I just want to read and read and sleep and eat, but I think that's a good thing.
So, this weekend, vamos a Oktoberfest en Santiago, estoy emocionada! Meg and other WWOOFers are poised to join us next week. It's going to be a good time.
From our back field where the avocado trees grow, you can see La Campana, the mountain that Meg and I climbed, and the mountain range it sits in rising around. I felt like I was walking through an earthen bowl, carrying crates of avocados and trying not to step on any perros accompanying me.
It has been good, feeling the sun on my back, eating meals as a WWOOF family, learning Spanish from The Clinic (a leftist newspaper that makes fun of ... everything). It seems a little ironic, or at least unexpected, that the greater part of farming so far has meant tearing green things out of the earth (weeds) in order to let a small number grow. But I also feel like the sun is absorbing my creative energy... I just want to read and read and sleep and eat, but I think that's a good thing.
So, this weekend, vamos a Oktoberfest en Santiago, estoy emocionada! Meg and other WWOOFers are poised to join us next week. It's going to be a good time.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
nueva dirección
For you letter writers (and potential letter writers), my new address is:
Jamie Chen
c/o Ismael Ami Igomberoff
Avenida Eastman 4890
Olmué, Region V
CHILE
I'll be here until at least early November. I believe it takes a little more than a week for mail to arrive here from NYC; your guess is as good as mine for other originating locations.
There is a festival this weekend for Columbus Day, how odd. Walking around Olmué is very peaceful, but I'm not sure I've found Jefferson's agrarian utopia, or whether that actually exists in tangible form. Still, I feel small and happy looking up at tree covered mountains and laurel.
Also, if you want a postcard or a letter, send me your address! I've got some stamps that need using.
Jamie Chen
c/o Ismael Ami Igomberoff
Avenida Eastman 4890
Olmué, Region V
CHILE
I'll be here until at least early November. I believe it takes a little more than a week for mail to arrive here from NYC; your guess is as good as mine for other originating locations.
There is a festival this weekend for Columbus Day, how odd. Walking around Olmué is very peaceful, but I'm not sure I've found Jefferson's agrarian utopia, or whether that actually exists in tangible form. Still, I feel small and happy looking up at tree covered mountains and laurel.
Also, if you want a postcard or a letter, send me your address! I've got some stamps that need using.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Olmué Regala Vida
is the slogan of the town I am now living in. Olmué, about 30 miles west of Valparaiso, is a small town at the foot of the mountain called La Campana, or the bell, which Meg and I climbed with our attractive neighbor last week. It has a beautiful, tree-filled plaza, muy tranquilo, lots of easygoing bikers, an amazing pastry shop, and many farms. It gives life because apparently it is (or used to be) very dry, and asthmatic people would come here to live and... recover? whatever people do in resorts for medical conditions.
I am living now at a farm that grows avocados (qué perfecto para mí!), cuke-asauruses (an exotic fruit that I have yet to sample), kiwis, and some other things I haven't been able to figure out (still chipping away at that language barrier). There are 21 dogs who share our home, a swimming pool, three houses, many fruit trees, and some beautiful vistas of the mountains (a coastal range, not the Andes) in the background.
The work here has been pretty chill, but I think it will pick up next week... so far, we've done some weeding, some warehouse cleaning, some bag making, and some planting of starts. I've also done a lot of reading and chess playing, with the one other WWOOF volunteer, Jeremy, who is from Massachusetts and taking a year off before going to Oberlin (of course). Valpo is only a metro ride away, so I'm looking forward to visits and to going back as well.
I am still not sure what to make of people who ask me whether I've visited China and whether it is mystical and magical, like in the beautiful kung fu movies. Ah, Orientalism from the colonizer/colonized of another continent. I don't know how to explain essentialism in Spanish (though I have managed to have some interesting conversations about God and religion in Spanish), and I don't even know if these academic concepts will translate at all, especially in a country that prides itself in "chilenidad."
Also, one last fun fact for the day: apparently, both Salvador Allende AND Augustin Pinochet, who deposed Allende and commenced almost twenty years of military rule in Chile, were born in Valparaíso. Such a small city to launch such historical trajectories.
It's very odd to think that it is now October, and instead of taking chilly walks in Riverside Park while avoiding midterms and drinking tea in 616 and watching the nights get longer, I am eagerly anticipating springtime and planting and the sprouting of frutas in our courtyard. I will spend Halloween here, in rural Chile! At least there is good chocolate.
I am living now at a farm that grows avocados (qué perfecto para mí!), cuke-asauruses (an exotic fruit that I have yet to sample), kiwis, and some other things I haven't been able to figure out (still chipping away at that language barrier). There are 21 dogs who share our home, a swimming pool, three houses, many fruit trees, and some beautiful vistas of the mountains (a coastal range, not the Andes) in the background.
The work here has been pretty chill, but I think it will pick up next week... so far, we've done some weeding, some warehouse cleaning, some bag making, and some planting of starts. I've also done a lot of reading and chess playing, with the one other WWOOF volunteer, Jeremy, who is from Massachusetts and taking a year off before going to Oberlin (of course). Valpo is only a metro ride away, so I'm looking forward to visits and to going back as well.
I am still not sure what to make of people who ask me whether I've visited China and whether it is mystical and magical, like in the beautiful kung fu movies. Ah, Orientalism from the colonizer/colonized of another continent. I don't know how to explain essentialism in Spanish (though I have managed to have some interesting conversations about God and religion in Spanish), and I don't even know if these academic concepts will translate at all, especially in a country that prides itself in "chilenidad."
Also, one last fun fact for the day: apparently, both Salvador Allende AND Augustin Pinochet, who deposed Allende and commenced almost twenty years of military rule in Chile, were born in Valparaíso. Such a small city to launch such historical trajectories.
It's very odd to think that it is now October, and instead of taking chilly walks in Riverside Park while avoiding midterms and drinking tea in 616 and watching the nights get longer, I am eagerly anticipating springtime and planting and the sprouting of frutas in our courtyard. I will spend Halloween here, in rural Chile! At least there is good chocolate.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
cerros de vida
Valparaíso has been home now for more than two weeks. This is a beautiful small city, with palm trees and seagulls and incredible night views of the city's hills containing thousands of small lights.
I have stepped foot in all of Pablo Neruda's houses open to the public. Qué rico! Who else would think to collect ship figureheads that lean toward views of the sea, or stone murals, or nautical instruments? He never ceases to amaze. I've been to Santiago twice, and while impressed by the garden-covered hills and weirdly clean and artful metro system (which made me nostalgic for New York, even for the hot hot hot elevator ride up at the 181st station on the 1), don't think I'd like to spend too much more time in the sprawling Westernized capital. I've also walked the streets of Valpo, learning empanada places and markets and how to cook fresh fish and collectivo systems and wine stores. Me encanta.
Today, I climbed a mountain. !! Meg and I didn't think we could do it, but after four hours (half an hour less than the suggested time), we reached the cumbre (summit) of La Campana. I can't even begin to describe the view: imagine sunsoaked rocks glittering with coloful graffitti of climbers past and present, with the Andes lined pristinely behind and beautiful farmland beneath. Fed by an incredible sense of accomplishment, especially given the fact that I haven't exercised since my leisurely mountain bike ride to las ruinas near San Pedro.
I've thought a lot about languages while here, and how it's so odd that a specific set of sounds that we produce with our mouths somehow become imbued with meaning, to the point that communication in our native tongue is instant recognition of these sounds. Learning Spanish, I feel like I have to hold the entire word in my mouth and feel every letter, and then, in true Chilean form, let some letters sink into my tongue before speaking. Also, I take verb conjugation for granted much too often. The rhythms of this language are beautiful but also tiring for me to try to imitate, and I'm realizing that when I lapse into English with Britain and Meg I take comfort not only in the ease of communication but also in the tones and lilt of our conversation, ingrained in my vocal cords from birth.
I'm also thinking about history (of course), and how Salvador Allende, first freely electd socialist president of the world, was born in this city. I've been fortunate enough to be able to pass as an instructor at Britain and Meg's workplace and so have been taking advantage of their library, and am now reading Missing by Thomas Hauser, which is obviously biased but has a lot of succinct information about the fucked up way that the U.S. government was involved in the Chilean economy and politics--in the name of preserving the free world--in the ´70s. I know it would take a lifetime and more to parse together how these policies play out today, but I want to dig deeper here, even though I'm almost positive that whatever searching I do will not result in any pride in the country of my birth. The copper mines and towns that I saw near San Pedro are taking on a different color in my memory, knowing about the nationalization of copper mines and the profound changes wrought both by Allende and the U.S.
I am still in furious search of a WWOOF farm, and might have to put my fledgling Spanish to use soon. Wish me luck.
I have stepped foot in all of Pablo Neruda's houses open to the public. Qué rico! Who else would think to collect ship figureheads that lean toward views of the sea, or stone murals, or nautical instruments? He never ceases to amaze. I've been to Santiago twice, and while impressed by the garden-covered hills and weirdly clean and artful metro system (which made me nostalgic for New York, even for the hot hot hot elevator ride up at the 181st station on the 1), don't think I'd like to spend too much more time in the sprawling Westernized capital. I've also walked the streets of Valpo, learning empanada places and markets and how to cook fresh fish and collectivo systems and wine stores. Me encanta.
Today, I climbed a mountain. !! Meg and I didn't think we could do it, but after four hours (half an hour less than the suggested time), we reached the cumbre (summit) of La Campana. I can't even begin to describe the view: imagine sunsoaked rocks glittering with coloful graffitti of climbers past and present, with the Andes lined pristinely behind and beautiful farmland beneath. Fed by an incredible sense of accomplishment, especially given the fact that I haven't exercised since my leisurely mountain bike ride to las ruinas near San Pedro.
I've thought a lot about languages while here, and how it's so odd that a specific set of sounds that we produce with our mouths somehow become imbued with meaning, to the point that communication in our native tongue is instant recognition of these sounds. Learning Spanish, I feel like I have to hold the entire word in my mouth and feel every letter, and then, in true Chilean form, let some letters sink into my tongue before speaking. Also, I take verb conjugation for granted much too often. The rhythms of this language are beautiful but also tiring for me to try to imitate, and I'm realizing that when I lapse into English with Britain and Meg I take comfort not only in the ease of communication but also in the tones and lilt of our conversation, ingrained in my vocal cords from birth.
I'm also thinking about history (of course), and how Salvador Allende, first freely electd socialist president of the world, was born in this city. I've been fortunate enough to be able to pass as an instructor at Britain and Meg's workplace and so have been taking advantage of their library, and am now reading Missing by Thomas Hauser, which is obviously biased but has a lot of succinct information about the fucked up way that the U.S. government was involved in the Chilean economy and politics--in the name of preserving the free world--in the ´70s. I know it would take a lifetime and more to parse together how these policies play out today, but I want to dig deeper here, even though I'm almost positive that whatever searching I do will not result in any pride in the country of my birth. The copper mines and towns that I saw near San Pedro are taking on a different color in my memory, knowing about the nationalization of copper mines and the profound changes wrought both by Allende and the U.S.
I am still in furious search of a WWOOF farm, and might have to put my fledgling Spanish to use soon. Wish me luck.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
off the radar (i hope)
Ooh, stolen pictures. I <3 google.
Arequipa, at the foot of a volcano. Second biggest city in Lima, home of conservative movements.
Santa Catalina Monastery in Arequipa: secluded Spanish looking for redemption in conquered territory... (my interpretation)
Arica! Driest city on earth? Contested battle spot between Bolivia, Peru, and Chile? Place of surfing.
Valpo! Pablo Neruda, how I love you and your birth town.
Arequipa, at the foot of a volcano. Second biggest city in Lima, home of conservative movements.
Santa Catalina Monastery in Arequipa: secluded Spanish looking for redemption in conquered territory... (my interpretation)
Arica! Driest city on earth? Contested battle spot between Bolivia, Peru, and Chile? Place of surfing.
Valpo! Pablo Neruda, how I love you and your birth town.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
a thousand five hundred thirty one and a half miles from lima
Al fin, Valparaiso!
This past week has been a whirlwind of hostels, bus rides, and beautiful cities I will probably never see again. My camera was stolen in Lima by a small child who is excellent at distraction techniques, and for the first time I was very regretful that I did not have a camera because I have seen some of the most beautiful landscapes of my life this week. I will try to find some pictures online to steal for this blog, to keep everyone entertained.
Last Friday, I took an overnight bus from Lima to Arequipa, the second biggest city in Peru. I saw the Santa Catalina monastery there, whose bright colors and orange trees were both pleasant and strange--to think that the Spanish ordered this city to be built on a newly "conquered" territory, and to imagine that these nuns and monks would wind their way to this new world to live in seclusion, makes me believe that the beauty of these monasteries comes also from a need to physically manifest tranquility that perhaps was a myth in reality.
From Arequipa, which does not sit in vain at the foot of a volcano (from a quote), I took a 7-hr bus to Tacna, and then a 2-hr collectivo across the border to Arica, most of which time was spent going through emigration and immigration customs. Arica is supposedly the driest city on earth, which would not explain the two large fountains in the city center, and sits at the base of El Murro, a large cliff with a military museum perched on top of it. You have a beautiful view of the red and white plaza filled with palm trees (plus the seemingly wasteful fountains) from the top.
Arica to San Pedro de Atacama was another overnight bus journey, though this one included a very fun 4 in the morning stop at a police checkpoint where a man in a yellow vest poked at my clothes with a stick. San Pedro de Atacama, a town of dirt roads, hostels, and tour companies willing to take you as far as Bolivia to see what the earth has to offer, is in the midst of some of the most gorgeous scenery I have ever seen in my life. A fellow solo traveler and I took an afternoon mountain biking ride, which took us through narrow gaps between incredible rock formations and beautiful sand dunes. I also splurged and got a tour to the Salar de Atacama, the biggest salt basin in Chile, which was breathtaking. Such blue, blue water, with these barely pink flamingoes grazing among white salt rocks casting shadows into shadows, all against a background of active volcanoes and volcanic rock formations colored orange and red by the sunset and a clear, clear sky. Absolutely incredible. The tour guide told me he would send me pictures so hopefully I will have some up soon.
Finally, I boarded a bus bound for Valparaiso, where I met very generous people AND Britain and Meg, roommates from New York! (Roommate rendezvous count has increased to 3, with one in the coming and another possible!) Valparaiso is magnificent. The city is spread over rolling hills and spills down into the port by the sea. The views at night are like nothing else and everything is bright and colorful. I think I would like to spend some time here, but I am also anxious to find a farm.
Traveling solo (sola) here has been an experience as well. While I was a bit anxious about it, there were absolutely no problems at all; in fact, I feel like people were more willing to help me out when they found out I was on my own. There is a surprising number of other solo or couple travelers who are spending up to a year traveling South America or the world, and I feel like I've stumbled onto this whole new culture where people ask each other¨"so how long have you been on the road" or "where is the cheapest place to do laundry in this town". There are some ridiculous people in this world, and I'm starting to realize that if you put your mind to it, anything really is possible (motorbiking across the world? climbing active volcanoes? giving up a banking career for endless travel? why of course!). Who knows where this adventure will take me next.
This past week has been a whirlwind of hostels, bus rides, and beautiful cities I will probably never see again. My camera was stolen in Lima by a small child who is excellent at distraction techniques, and for the first time I was very regretful that I did not have a camera because I have seen some of the most beautiful landscapes of my life this week. I will try to find some pictures online to steal for this blog, to keep everyone entertained.
Last Friday, I took an overnight bus from Lima to Arequipa, the second biggest city in Peru. I saw the Santa Catalina monastery there, whose bright colors and orange trees were both pleasant and strange--to think that the Spanish ordered this city to be built on a newly "conquered" territory, and to imagine that these nuns and monks would wind their way to this new world to live in seclusion, makes me believe that the beauty of these monasteries comes also from a need to physically manifest tranquility that perhaps was a myth in reality.
From Arequipa, which does not sit in vain at the foot of a volcano (from a quote), I took a 7-hr bus to Tacna, and then a 2-hr collectivo across the border to Arica, most of which time was spent going through emigration and immigration customs. Arica is supposedly the driest city on earth, which would not explain the two large fountains in the city center, and sits at the base of El Murro, a large cliff with a military museum perched on top of it. You have a beautiful view of the red and white plaza filled with palm trees (plus the seemingly wasteful fountains) from the top.
Arica to San Pedro de Atacama was another overnight bus journey, though this one included a very fun 4 in the morning stop at a police checkpoint where a man in a yellow vest poked at my clothes with a stick. San Pedro de Atacama, a town of dirt roads, hostels, and tour companies willing to take you as far as Bolivia to see what the earth has to offer, is in the midst of some of the most gorgeous scenery I have ever seen in my life. A fellow solo traveler and I took an afternoon mountain biking ride, which took us through narrow gaps between incredible rock formations and beautiful sand dunes. I also splurged and got a tour to the Salar de Atacama, the biggest salt basin in Chile, which was breathtaking. Such blue, blue water, with these barely pink flamingoes grazing among white salt rocks casting shadows into shadows, all against a background of active volcanoes and volcanic rock formations colored orange and red by the sunset and a clear, clear sky. Absolutely incredible. The tour guide told me he would send me pictures so hopefully I will have some up soon.
Finally, I boarded a bus bound for Valparaiso, where I met very generous people AND Britain and Meg, roommates from New York! (Roommate rendezvous count has increased to 3, with one in the coming and another possible!) Valparaiso is magnificent. The city is spread over rolling hills and spills down into the port by the sea. The views at night are like nothing else and everything is bright and colorful. I think I would like to spend some time here, but I am also anxious to find a farm.
Traveling solo (sola) here has been an experience as well. While I was a bit anxious about it, there were absolutely no problems at all; in fact, I feel like people were more willing to help me out when they found out I was on my own. There is a surprising number of other solo or couple travelers who are spending up to a year traveling South America or the world, and I feel like I've stumbled onto this whole new culture where people ask each other¨"so how long have you been on the road" or "where is the cheapest place to do laundry in this town". There are some ridiculous people in this world, and I'm starting to realize that if you put your mind to it, anything really is possible (motorbiking across the world? climbing active volcanoes? giving up a banking career for endless travel? why of course!). Who knows where this adventure will take me next.
Friday, September 4, 2009
ciao, lima
Today, I had lunch in the Paseo de la Solidaridad,a few blocks from my hostel (not the Red Psycho Llama; I moved to one that was just down the street, half the price--20 soles, or around $7, for one night!--and much more social on Tuesday). I wondered what solidarity they were referring to, and what this paseo was doing in the middle of ritzy Miraflores. I haven't even begun to figure out the idiosyncrasies of this city.
This is my last day in busy busy Lima; tonight I board a (luxury?) bus to Arequipa, the White City that I'm hoping resembles--at least a little!--Gondor from Lord of the Rings. I might have to find a white horse to ride into the city on.
Lima has taken some getting used to; my NYC street crossing instincts are actually more harmful than helpful since cars here just don't care at all about pedestrians. This is worlds away from Pine Ridge, and I'm starting to realize that while I enjoy the convenience and the closeness and the forced camaraderie of large cities, I don't think I could ever really be happy living amongst 10 million other people in one imagined community (Benedict Anderson!). Space matters. Lima is gray and a little grimy, though I'm staying in the nicer part so there's lots of cool buildings and apartments around--plus the beautiful Pacific, which is surprisingly clean here, even in the city.
I've spent the last couple of days with Joanna, a suitemate from the past (we can begin the suitemate rendezvous count at one, so far), who was doing research on the reception of the HPV vaccine in the outskirts of Lima. We've had four hour lunches, many walks, some pisco sours, some salsa-dancing, and lots of coffee. I'm eternally grateful for her Spanish language skills, and slowly working on mine--last night I met Isabelle from France, who is staying in the same hostel as I am. Our conversation was a mixture of Spanish, French, and English, which was incredibly confusing and wonderful. Now I just have to find some Chinese travelers, which may be a little more difficult.
I'm ready to move on, and see what the conversative hub (or so I hear) of Peru has to offer--glorification of colonization? We shall see.
This is my last day in busy busy Lima; tonight I board a (luxury?) bus to Arequipa, the White City that I'm hoping resembles--at least a little!--Gondor from Lord of the Rings. I might have to find a white horse to ride into the city on.
Lima has taken some getting used to; my NYC street crossing instincts are actually more harmful than helpful since cars here just don't care at all about pedestrians. This is worlds away from Pine Ridge, and I'm starting to realize that while I enjoy the convenience and the closeness and the forced camaraderie of large cities, I don't think I could ever really be happy living amongst 10 million other people in one imagined community (Benedict Anderson!). Space matters. Lima is gray and a little grimy, though I'm staying in the nicer part so there's lots of cool buildings and apartments around--plus the beautiful Pacific, which is surprisingly clean here, even in the city.
I've spent the last couple of days with Joanna, a suitemate from the past (we can begin the suitemate rendezvous count at one, so far), who was doing research on the reception of the HPV vaccine in the outskirts of Lima. We've had four hour lunches, many walks, some pisco sours, some salsa-dancing, and lots of coffee. I'm eternally grateful for her Spanish language skills, and slowly working on mine--last night I met Isabelle from France, who is staying in the same hostel as I am. Our conversation was a mixture of Spanish, French, and English, which was incredibly confusing and wonderful. Now I just have to find some Chinese travelers, which may be a little more difficult.
I'm ready to move on, and see what the conversative hub (or so I hear) of Peru has to offer--glorification of colonization? We shall see.
Monday, August 31, 2009
red psycho llama
My body has gone through so many different states in the past week,´I´m losing all sense of place (not to mention the ubiquity of things like Papa John´s and McDonald´s, of which I saw at least 3 each on my way from the airport to the hostel). But I am most definitely now in Lima, Peru, staying at the Red Psycho Llama hostel in Miraflores. I slept through the first flight, took a 2 1/2 hr nap in Fort Lauderdale, FL (I think people thought I was crazy), and was restless on the last leg of the journey. I can´t believe I made it. I can´t believe I now have to stretch my mind and figure out this language thing and an entirely new continent.
Apparently, I can never sleep enough. It´s time to crash again.
Apparently, I can never sleep enough. It´s time to crash again.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
in the places you go, you'll see the places where you're from
...or so says modest mouse. My returning culture shock does not agree. I am home! If very briefly--I leave tomorrow at 10:05 a.m., for a serious continental shift. First stop: Lima, Peru.
Being home after ten weeks in South Dakota, I'm noticing different things--like how well manicured everything is, how all the grass on the side of the road is mowed, the roads are kept up, and neighborhoods are fenced in with these stylish and expensive iron contraptions that Re-Member volunteers would have serious problems with. My hands automatically move to the side of the steering wheel when I want to put the car in park, and I couldn't figure out how to turn off the windshield wipers because it wasn't a 15-passenger van. The humidity feels deadly. I miss open space and no traffic and slow evenings.
The last few weeks were packed--what with getting our vans stuck on dirt/mud roads (twice) and me taking off for a weekend in the hills to attend a wedding. When I say "in the hills," I mean literally: they didn't rent a space or anything, they just choose a spot overlooking the lake and said their vows while the guests sat on rocks and a bluegrass band played to the side. It was gorgeous.
One thing I will not miss, though will no doubt encounter again and again, is the blatant prejudice that came out from our volunteers. I heard from one volunteer that "these natives" just needed to clean out their houses and burn "all that shit" in there. This is one of the tamer examples.
The danger in bringing primarily white volunteers from off the rez into Pine Ridge to do work projects is that it reinforces these binaries. Not only are the Lakota people "these people" who don't look the same, but they live in a demarcated zone with specific grievances, histories, and issues. While it's important to understand the unique problems of a reservation, I think it's too easy to extrapolate that uniqueness to one-sided essentialization. What I wish people would understand is that this is a window not into the soul of Pine Ridge, as Tom says in Wisdom of the Elders, but a window into the darker soul of white culture. This is product of your inheritance. This is the consequence of centuries of genocidal arrogance AND of awfully misguided benevolence. And that's not just limited to white culture--these are the characteristics of an extended interaction, which by definition involves other peoples. There are ways the perpetrator and victim have blended, shifted, and taken from each other. What I wish we would investigate, together, is how we now stand, not as separate and static peoples, but as a tragic community of the powerful and the powerless.
I suppose I will keep musing about Pine Ridge over the next few months, though I have an entirely new continent of colonization to explore. Wish me luck.
Being home after ten weeks in South Dakota, I'm noticing different things--like how well manicured everything is, how all the grass on the side of the road is mowed, the roads are kept up, and neighborhoods are fenced in with these stylish and expensive iron contraptions that Re-Member volunteers would have serious problems with. My hands automatically move to the side of the steering wheel when I want to put the car in park, and I couldn't figure out how to turn off the windshield wipers because it wasn't a 15-passenger van. The humidity feels deadly. I miss open space and no traffic and slow evenings.
The last few weeks were packed--what with getting our vans stuck on dirt/mud roads (twice) and me taking off for a weekend in the hills to attend a wedding. When I say "in the hills," I mean literally: they didn't rent a space or anything, they just choose a spot overlooking the lake and said their vows while the guests sat on rocks and a bluegrass band played to the side. It was gorgeous.
One thing I will not miss, though will no doubt encounter again and again, is the blatant prejudice that came out from our volunteers. I heard from one volunteer that "these natives" just needed to clean out their houses and burn "all that shit" in there. This is one of the tamer examples.
The danger in bringing primarily white volunteers from off the rez into Pine Ridge to do work projects is that it reinforces these binaries. Not only are the Lakota people "these people" who don't look the same, but they live in a demarcated zone with specific grievances, histories, and issues. While it's important to understand the unique problems of a reservation, I think it's too easy to extrapolate that uniqueness to one-sided essentialization. What I wish people would understand is that this is a window not into the soul of Pine Ridge, as Tom says in Wisdom of the Elders, but a window into the darker soul of white culture. This is product of your inheritance. This is the consequence of centuries of genocidal arrogance AND of awfully misguided benevolence. And that's not just limited to white culture--these are the characteristics of an extended interaction, which by definition involves other peoples. There are ways the perpetrator and victim have blended, shifted, and taken from each other. What I wish we would investigate, together, is how we now stand, not as separate and static peoples, but as a tragic community of the powerful and the powerless.
I suppose I will keep musing about Pine Ridge over the next few months, though I have an entirely new continent of colonization to explore. Wish me luck.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
the crooked path of the conscious
I'm entering my ninth week at Re-Member and on Pine Ridge. My momentum has significantly slowed down.
Last weekend, as I was driving home (back to Re-Member) from Pine Ridge, I looked out the window and saw the street corner of the one big four-way intersection in town, where the post office/employment office/Billy Mays community center sits. It looked just like a street corner. The street light was on and gave it the muted yellow look that street lights tend to cast. It hit me then that this was just a normal street corner. We talk a lot about being "on the rez" and how the things we experience are emblematic of living on the rez--example: when we heard that the tire on the van we were driving may or may not fall off while we were on the road, the two staff members who were with me and I just shrugged. That's how life goes on the rez. But this is the status quo for a lot of people. I think, also, that if I were to live here, I'd have to live here, not live in an idea of Pine Ridge or what it should be.
This is an odd thought, but I think part of why I feel comfortable here is that the inconsistencies of our national rhetoric and overarching narrative are physically apparent here. In NYC, there is poverty on the streets and in the buildings, but there are tons of non-profits and public announcements and also nice places that do a very good job of screening out everything and everyone that may make someone feel uncomfortable. Here, though, I'm aware of power politics everywhere. The Subway is owned by the BIA Superintendent (who has the means and the clout to get a loan and start a business?). The tribal government office sits next to the BIA office. The gas station has a steady clientele buying cigarettes and fried food, while the produce aisle in the overpriced supermarket (the only one on the rez) is usually deserted. People approach us in parking lots when we drive Re-Member vehicles, asking us whether we can fix their trailer or their house or their plumbing. The roads instantly improve when you leave the rez. Hitchhikers on the roads come in all shapes and sizes. Marginalization is almost palpable in the air.
I know I want to devote my time and energy to public service in some form, but the delegation of aid is difficult to bear. Someone called the office the other day with a work request; part of the ceiling had caved in, they had rattlesnakes climbing up a deteriorating outhouse and were afraid for their toddlers, and needed new siding for their trailer. I had to tell her that I didn't know when we would be able to come out, and that we may not even be able to come out until the next season, which starts in March 2010. It was a position of power that I felt incredibly uncomfortable occupying.
People talk about how satisfying it is to be able to meet the family that they've just built something for--like meeting the kid in a wheelchair who now has a wheelchair ramp to go in and out of his house on, which you built. I understand that to a certain extent, but I have to be honest and say that while I feel a little bit of the satisfaction that comes with completing a project well, meeting the family and inviting them to lunch still feels invasive and uncomfortable. I don't know if it's because I become painfully aware of my privilege, or because I don't want others to have to publicly recognize their poverty or need... I just know that my ultimate goal will always be working to make interactions like these unnecessary. I guess the trick is figuring out how to make the most of them while they are necessary.
I don't know if any of that made sense. The days are starting to drag a little, now that the end is in sight. I have a whole new continent to explore. I will miss the sky and the storms and the constant socializing here, though.
Last weekend, as I was driving home (back to Re-Member) from Pine Ridge, I looked out the window and saw the street corner of the one big four-way intersection in town, where the post office/employment office/Billy Mays community center sits. It looked just like a street corner. The street light was on and gave it the muted yellow look that street lights tend to cast. It hit me then that this was just a normal street corner. We talk a lot about being "on the rez" and how the things we experience are emblematic of living on the rez--example: when we heard that the tire on the van we were driving may or may not fall off while we were on the road, the two staff members who were with me and I just shrugged. That's how life goes on the rez. But this is the status quo for a lot of people. I think, also, that if I were to live here, I'd have to live here, not live in an idea of Pine Ridge or what it should be.
This is an odd thought, but I think part of why I feel comfortable here is that the inconsistencies of our national rhetoric and overarching narrative are physically apparent here. In NYC, there is poverty on the streets and in the buildings, but there are tons of non-profits and public announcements and also nice places that do a very good job of screening out everything and everyone that may make someone feel uncomfortable. Here, though, I'm aware of power politics everywhere. The Subway is owned by the BIA Superintendent (who has the means and the clout to get a loan and start a business?). The tribal government office sits next to the BIA office. The gas station has a steady clientele buying cigarettes and fried food, while the produce aisle in the overpriced supermarket (the only one on the rez) is usually deserted. People approach us in parking lots when we drive Re-Member vehicles, asking us whether we can fix their trailer or their house or their plumbing. The roads instantly improve when you leave the rez. Hitchhikers on the roads come in all shapes and sizes. Marginalization is almost palpable in the air.
I know I want to devote my time and energy to public service in some form, but the delegation of aid is difficult to bear. Someone called the office the other day with a work request; part of the ceiling had caved in, they had rattlesnakes climbing up a deteriorating outhouse and were afraid for their toddlers, and needed new siding for their trailer. I had to tell her that I didn't know when we would be able to come out, and that we may not even be able to come out until the next season, which starts in March 2010. It was a position of power that I felt incredibly uncomfortable occupying.
People talk about how satisfying it is to be able to meet the family that they've just built something for--like meeting the kid in a wheelchair who now has a wheelchair ramp to go in and out of his house on, which you built. I understand that to a certain extent, but I have to be honest and say that while I feel a little bit of the satisfaction that comes with completing a project well, meeting the family and inviting them to lunch still feels invasive and uncomfortable. I don't know if it's because I become painfully aware of my privilege, or because I don't want others to have to publicly recognize their poverty or need... I just know that my ultimate goal will always be working to make interactions like these unnecessary. I guess the trick is figuring out how to make the most of them while they are necessary.
I don't know if any of that made sense. The days are starting to drag a little, now that the end is in sight. I have a whole new continent to explore. I will miss the sky and the storms and the constant socializing here, though.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
you only live once (the strokes)
I'm considering changing my Re-Member-given name, Chen Chasing Bear, to Chen Chasing Mammoth, given my recent trip (with 14 family week kids) to the Hot Springs Mammoth Site. Check it out:
That is almost a full mammoth skeleton. !!! Can you imagine? That was, seventy thousand years ago or so, a living, breathing, heaving, HUGE animal. It got caught in a small, warm lake, which happened to preserve over 70 skeletons (not all this complete). The things you find!
Of family week, I'll just say that I survived, and I've decided I only like kids 6 and under or over 15. Not sure what I'll do with my kids, if I have any, during those nine years.
Last Saturday, Re-Member participated in the annual Oglala Lakota Nation Parade. The staff, with our spiffy matching t-shirts, threw candy and toilet paper from our makeshift float, featuring a (non-functioning) outhouse, one of our many spectacular products.
Pine Ridge at its finest! I'm proud to say that I escaped from Re-Member every day of the powwow and circled that arbor quite a few times. Unfortunately I managed to forget my camera every time. Alas, I'll just have to come back someday.
So, I'm pondering:
about place. I've always felt caught between places, and never really let myself settle, mentally, in a place. This is a place where history has refused to die, and which people have pondered for generations. They were selling t-shirts with images of Sitting Bull and Red Cloud on them at the powwow. Your history, or at least the romanticized and martyrized version of it, is lurking at every corner. It seems odd to be living in a building with transitory volunteers who spend six days on the reservation, while meeting people who can trace their ancestry to a certain hill that is only a few miles away. My sense of time is becoming warped, and it makes this place feel heavier, laden with something that has already happened and something expected to happen at the same time.
My body is also attuning itself to this schedule. Time is approaching 10:30; I can tell because I can feel my limbs start drooping. I think it's time for some sleep.
That is almost a full mammoth skeleton. !!! Can you imagine? That was, seventy thousand years ago or so, a living, breathing, heaving, HUGE animal. It got caught in a small, warm lake, which happened to preserve over 70 skeletons (not all this complete). The things you find!
Of family week, I'll just say that I survived, and I've decided I only like kids 6 and under or over 15. Not sure what I'll do with my kids, if I have any, during those nine years.
Last Saturday, Re-Member participated in the annual Oglala Lakota Nation Parade. The staff, with our spiffy matching t-shirts, threw candy and toilet paper from our makeshift float, featuring a (non-functioning) outhouse, one of our many spectacular products.
Pine Ridge at its finest! I'm proud to say that I escaped from Re-Member every day of the powwow and circled that arbor quite a few times. Unfortunately I managed to forget my camera every time. Alas, I'll just have to come back someday.
So, I'm pondering:
about place. I've always felt caught between places, and never really let myself settle, mentally, in a place. This is a place where history has refused to die, and which people have pondered for generations. They were selling t-shirts with images of Sitting Bull and Red Cloud on them at the powwow. Your history, or at least the romanticized and martyrized version of it, is lurking at every corner. It seems odd to be living in a building with transitory volunteers who spend six days on the reservation, while meeting people who can trace their ancestry to a certain hill that is only a few miles away. My sense of time is becoming warped, and it makes this place feel heavier, laden with something that has already happened and something expected to happen at the same time.
My body is also attuning itself to this schedule. Time is approaching 10:30; I can tell because I can feel my limbs start drooping. I think it's time for some sleep.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
true story
driving through HUD housing and observing many long-braided men:
Me: Corbin, why do Indians wear their hair long?
Corbin: Because they can't afford scissors or a barber.
...haha. i think.
Me: Corbin, why do Indians wear their hair long?
Corbin: Because they can't afford scissors or a barber.
...haha. i think.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
small things
It was 105 degrees in the town of Pine Ridge today.
I'm thinking about how even the crappiest office I worked in at Columbia is worlds better than any OST (Oglala Sioux Tribe, the official title of the tribal government here, according to the feds) office I've visited.
Apparently solar panels can withstand golf ball sized pieces of hail.
There was, by chance, a great jazz song on the radio today as I was coming back from Oglala. I miss hearing live jazz, and jazz in general. My thoughts of New York are of St. Nick's Pub for hours on a weekday night, serenaded by sweet trumpets and keyboard tones.
I'm reaching the middle point of my stay here in Pine Ridge. I feel like I'm on the cusp of something, not sure what. The Black Hills seem closer to me when I look at them nowadays.
South America seems like a dream.
It is ice cream thursday, and tomorrow I'm going to watch a solar panel assembly demonstration--shooooooot. I'll never get tired of this sun.
---
I've found myself digging into books again. I finished Sherman Alexie's Tonto and the Lone Ranger Fistfight in Heaven in two days, and have started The Earth Shall Weep: A History of Native America by James Wilson and Skins by Adrian C. Louis. Alexie's book was heartbreaking and comical, sparse and wonderful. Felt like Hemingway and Bukowski living on a reservation--I highly recommend.
I'm thinking about how even the crappiest office I worked in at Columbia is worlds better than any OST (Oglala Sioux Tribe, the official title of the tribal government here, according to the feds) office I've visited.
Apparently solar panels can withstand golf ball sized pieces of hail.
There was, by chance, a great jazz song on the radio today as I was coming back from Oglala. I miss hearing live jazz, and jazz in general. My thoughts of New York are of St. Nick's Pub for hours on a weekday night, serenaded by sweet trumpets and keyboard tones.
I'm reaching the middle point of my stay here in Pine Ridge. I feel like I'm on the cusp of something, not sure what. The Black Hills seem closer to me when I look at them nowadays.
South America seems like a dream.
It is ice cream thursday, and tomorrow I'm going to watch a solar panel assembly demonstration--shooooooot. I'll never get tired of this sun.
---
I've found myself digging into books again. I finished Sherman Alexie's Tonto and the Lone Ranger Fistfight in Heaven in two days, and have started The Earth Shall Weep: A History of Native America by James Wilson and Skins by Adrian C. Louis. Alexie's book was heartbreaking and comical, sparse and wonderful. Felt like Hemingway and Bukowski living on a reservation--I highly recommend.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
days go by like weeks
Many things and many thoughts have happened since I last posted.
I helped out with building an Eco-Dome (this is the foundation of the residence).
I went horseback riding twice! My first time ever was bareback, to the top of a hill and back. My second time was on a 24-year-old horse (yes, older than I am) who was the gentlest but also the laziest. Traveling on a horse over the black hills is incredibly different than traveling in a car going 75.
I visited KILI radio, maybe the best radio station in the history of mankind. They are completely wind-powered, though their methods of obtaining music are slightly less sophisticated. I am in love.
My thoughts are scattered right now... I'll just say that I really think I could live here, for an extended period of time. It may be lonely and difficult and frustrating, but there's nowhere else that I've felt this incredible sense of absolute place and the true effort at community that I've seen here.
And now, the obligatory sky picture:
Thinking of you all.
I helped out with building an Eco-Dome (this is the foundation of the residence).
I went horseback riding twice! My first time ever was bareback, to the top of a hill and back. My second time was on a 24-year-old horse (yes, older than I am) who was the gentlest but also the laziest. Traveling on a horse over the black hills is incredibly different than traveling in a car going 75.
I visited KILI radio, maybe the best radio station in the history of mankind. They are completely wind-powered, though their methods of obtaining music are slightly less sophisticated. I am in love.
My thoughts are scattered right now... I'll just say that I really think I could live here, for an extended period of time. It may be lonely and difficult and frustrating, but there's nowhere else that I've felt this incredible sense of absolute place and the true effort at community that I've seen here.
And now, the obligatory sky picture:
Thinking of you all.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
"it's still indians and cowboys out here"
or so says Yolanda, the wife of one of our speakers tonight. In a lot of ways, in terms of land and relationships, that's still true.
Sunset fields on the hill behind Re-Member
On to the real story. What happens to activists who occupy Wounded Knee for 5 months to protest a lack of justice in the murders of several Indians and a predatory tribal government?
Apparently they don't stop being kickass. Duane Locke, a 1973 occupier, is one of the friendliest and most talkative people I've met out here AND happens to have three gardens out near Porcupine, all of which are beautiful and thriving. Through some local organizations, he's helped tons of people set up their own gardens. Last year he gave away 900 lbs of potatoes, among other veggies, to feed people healthy, local, and tasty produce. I love it. We brought two crews of volunteers out to destroy weeds, waterboard bugs (Duane's term), and fertilize. It actually was pretty brutal, the weeds were taking over because of all the rain that we've been getting. I learned what a watermelon plant looks like, and that weeds like to imitate the plants that they are surrounding. And grow thorns.
This is actually LaDonna and Harrison's community garden for her non-profit, which is also really cool; I forgot my camera today.
The whole day, while pulling weeds, I thought about structure. About how even if we place beds, skirt trailers, put up siding, insulate houses, and build outhouses, the majority of South Dakota is still prejudiced. Indians will continue to be unemployed and forgotten. I want two prongs! I want to attack immediate issues and pave the way for future improvement. I also want Re-Member to stop buying processed white bread, institutional powder Powerade packets, and going through dozens of plastic gloves a day. I think, if we are really going to effect change, we have to change the way we think about everything. We have to build Eco-Domes on a wayward time schedule with some random international volunteers. We have to power our offices with solar power (check! :)). We have to grow companion plants in a garden to avoid pesticides and reuse plastic bags and make our own rags. And we have to figure out how to build houses efficiently and sustainably--which might mean dismantling the Bureau of Indian Affairs and their awful land policy, and rebuilding from the ground up. Some fun facts: the tribal government has only had the resources and ability to deal with land issues (like leasing, ownership, etc.) for the last three or four years. 20 people own 40% of the land out here on Pine Ridge, which is the size of the state of Connecticut, and lease it to others. I'd bet that the majority of these large landholders, if not all, are white.
There's something else to think about: what is the place of large groups of white people coming out here to "work with" the Lakota nation? How do we build relationships in the span of a week? How do we get people to think about (white) privilege and how that shapes realities out here on the rez? Our daily wisdoms and history lessons can only do so much. I've noticed that the older folks find learning about certain cultural practices like the Sundance... distasteful (though Duane makes a good point about many religions, including Christianity, centering on violence and flesh sacrifices). Sometimes I feel like people come here to view the situation and to lend their services in the way that Re-Member has organized it, but don't take the extra step to examine themselves and how they in their daily lives contribute to the overall situation through perpetuating stereotypes or failing to understand racial and class stratification. I also think we have to let ourselves redefine the relationships between races. Which happens, I think, with the staff here; we all live together and learn from each other and love together, but I don't know if volunteers know how to--or that they can--cross these lines and get to know people, not just representatives of cultural practices or histories.
Anyways, other rez happenings: 13 people from our Chicago group have some sort of stomach virus; I am steering clear of that building. Also, I found out that a group called Aide Abroad was charging volunteers 400% what we normally charge volunteers to send them out here--talk about voluntourism and profiting off good intentions and guilt. Sometimes people make me sick.
It's getting harder to drag myself out of bed at 6:30 a.m. There are a lot of Iowan high school boys here. Some people think I'm Lakota. Also, today I had a great conversation with Tom, our executive director, about projects I can do out here and I'm psyched...!
...and I just watched a lightning blitz storm. Jeff, another program manager, says that it's probably 40-50 miles away. First of all, wtf, I can see 50 miles away. Second of all, we can see lightning flashing at least twice a second. And we're under tornado watch. We'll see what happens.
Sunset fields on the hill behind Re-Member
On to the real story. What happens to activists who occupy Wounded Knee for 5 months to protest a lack of justice in the murders of several Indians and a predatory tribal government?
Apparently they don't stop being kickass. Duane Locke, a 1973 occupier, is one of the friendliest and most talkative people I've met out here AND happens to have three gardens out near Porcupine, all of which are beautiful and thriving. Through some local organizations, he's helped tons of people set up their own gardens. Last year he gave away 900 lbs of potatoes, among other veggies, to feed people healthy, local, and tasty produce. I love it. We brought two crews of volunteers out to destroy weeds, waterboard bugs (Duane's term), and fertilize. It actually was pretty brutal, the weeds were taking over because of all the rain that we've been getting. I learned what a watermelon plant looks like, and that weeds like to imitate the plants that they are surrounding. And grow thorns.
This is actually LaDonna and Harrison's community garden for her non-profit, which is also really cool; I forgot my camera today.
The whole day, while pulling weeds, I thought about structure. About how even if we place beds, skirt trailers, put up siding, insulate houses, and build outhouses, the majority of South Dakota is still prejudiced. Indians will continue to be unemployed and forgotten. I want two prongs! I want to attack immediate issues and pave the way for future improvement. I also want Re-Member to stop buying processed white bread, institutional powder Powerade packets, and going through dozens of plastic gloves a day. I think, if we are really going to effect change, we have to change the way we think about everything. We have to build Eco-Domes on a wayward time schedule with some random international volunteers. We have to power our offices with solar power (check! :)). We have to grow companion plants in a garden to avoid pesticides and reuse plastic bags and make our own rags. And we have to figure out how to build houses efficiently and sustainably--which might mean dismantling the Bureau of Indian Affairs and their awful land policy, and rebuilding from the ground up. Some fun facts: the tribal government has only had the resources and ability to deal with land issues (like leasing, ownership, etc.) for the last three or four years. 20 people own 40% of the land out here on Pine Ridge, which is the size of the state of Connecticut, and lease it to others. I'd bet that the majority of these large landholders, if not all, are white.
There's something else to think about: what is the place of large groups of white people coming out here to "work with" the Lakota nation? How do we build relationships in the span of a week? How do we get people to think about (white) privilege and how that shapes realities out here on the rez? Our daily wisdoms and history lessons can only do so much. I've noticed that the older folks find learning about certain cultural practices like the Sundance... distasteful (though Duane makes a good point about many religions, including Christianity, centering on violence and flesh sacrifices). Sometimes I feel like people come here to view the situation and to lend their services in the way that Re-Member has organized it, but don't take the extra step to examine themselves and how they in their daily lives contribute to the overall situation through perpetuating stereotypes or failing to understand racial and class stratification. I also think we have to let ourselves redefine the relationships between races. Which happens, I think, with the staff here; we all live together and learn from each other and love together, but I don't know if volunteers know how to--or that they can--cross these lines and get to know people, not just representatives of cultural practices or histories.
Anyways, other rez happenings: 13 people from our Chicago group have some sort of stomach virus; I am steering clear of that building. Also, I found out that a group called Aide Abroad was charging volunteers 400% what we normally charge volunteers to send them out here--talk about voluntourism and profiting off good intentions and guilt. Sometimes people make me sick.
It's getting harder to drag myself out of bed at 6:30 a.m. There are a lot of Iowan high school boys here. Some people think I'm Lakota. Also, today I had a great conversation with Tom, our executive director, about projects I can do out here and I'm psyched...!
...and I just watched a lightning blitz storm. Jeff, another program manager, says that it's probably 40-50 miles away. First of all, wtf, I can see 50 miles away. Second of all, we can see lightning flashing at least twice a second. And we're under tornado watch. We'll see what happens.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
white stars
There's a scene in Tolkien's Return of the King where Sam and Frodo are resting at the foot of Mount Doom (I think, it's been a while I read it), in the dark and cold, and wishing they were back in the lush, green Shire. Sam looks up and sees a white star, and tells Frodo to have hope--somewhere in the high heavens a light is shining.
As dorky as a reference that may be, I feel like these past two days--at our second annual Housing and Economic Development Summit--have shown me many white stars in what seemed at first to be a desperately bureaucratic tangle of misplaced jurisdictions and varied levels of incompetence. I met Bret of Windpower by Bret, who built a $400 wind turbine that produces 700 watts of energy out of a used car engine and David and Calvin of Village Earth, who work on the ground helping people consolidate their land and escape the leasing system (read more here). Bret, who blew in on a rickety blue truck with a canoe strapped to the top with some sketchy looking knots, has lived off the grid for 8 years, even growing and making his own biodiesel. I finally met Henry Red Cloud, direct descendant of Chief Red Cloud, who founded Red Cloud Renewable Energy Center and produces solar energy heaters on the rez, and some folks from Cal-Earth who are building an eco-dome out near Wounded Knee. Whenever I hear about something like Cal-Earth, or Rosebud Log Homes, I wonder why we still do things the inefficient, unsustainable, wasteful way.
Seeing a solar panel on a tipi and dancers in full wacipi (powwow) regalia texting on cell phones--as well as people selling indian tacos out of a car on the side of the grounds--makes me happy too. I don't believe in static culture. Talking to some of the people working for housing made me realize also that this wayward governance is now part of the culture, too. People expect only delays and broken promises from the federal and tribal government--but that's just a thin backdrop to living their lives, making community, shooting the breeze while watching the beautiful black hills. 
I talked to Tony (not pictured below; but they did include the vets who were present in the Grand Entry to the wacipi), a Vietnam vet, for a while by our powdered Powerade coolers. I later saw him walking down the main road leading to Porcupine (a happenin town of 127 houses, one small gas pump next to a tiny store selling coffee brewed in a 20 cup glass pot, and a clinic). My first inclination was to feel indignant--this man fought in an unjust war for a country that tries to erase the memory of his people, and he has to walk in the hot sun for miles to get to his old trailer. But he wasn't broken. He wasn't bitter. In our 20 minute conversation, he probably smiled more than I saw some of our bored, dehydrated volunteers smile (though many of them have been really great and good spirited) all day. Someone shoot me if I say something about the stolidness of Lakota nature or the strength and depth of their spiritual souls--but I guess it's important to remember that poverty doesn't define someone, and I've got to let my big picture analysis live side by side with little person realities.
I can't say enough about the sky. Yesterday, when I walked outside after dinner, there was a storm sweeping slowly in from the west (I think it was west at least). We have such a wide view of the sky that we could watch these large expansive storm clouds push their way towards us. I've never seen such bright and insistent lightning. I walked to the top of the hill behind Re-Member and watched the clouds slipping forward, thundering and raining all the way, lifting up eventually to let the setting sun light up the horizon.
I don't have a picture of the storm (we can't go back into the building if the volunteers are having a program) but I have some of a sunset I took my first week here.
Tomorrow I go to a community garden, started by one of Re-Member's staff members--I am super excited. And now, for the first time in years, I'm going to bed before 10pm.
Thanks to everyone who's written me--I'm working on writing everyone back. :)
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
being present
still means having a past. When white people say "I didn't own any slaves" or "I wasn't a racist legislator," I don't doubt that that's a true statement, but it doesn't change the fact that they don't have to deal with the consequences of those acts and others do. I once thought that power was the ability to say something, not mean it, not to be held accountable for it, and then be applauded for it (re: Columbia bureaucracy), but now I'm thinking power stretches beyond generations. Decades of discriminatory legislation and racism don't undo themselves just because they are discontinued (if they are, in fact, discontinued).
The anniversary of the Battle of Little Big Horn (otherwise known as Custer's Last Stand) is tomorrow. I don't think we should hold eternal grudges or get caught in perpetual reminiscing and regretting, but I do think that we should seriously consider how past actions affect present lives. Are we responsible for our ancestor's actions? Why must the oppressed (oof, loaded word) be responsible for dealing with the actions of their ancestor's oppressors?
On a lighter note, being present also means being present. I'm finding that when you wake up really early in the morning, say, 5:45 a.m., you can really only focus on what you're doing at the moment. I had an intense towel folding session yesterday morning.
Also, I'm getting to know my way around the reservation and it only gets more beautiful. The sun is a brilliant shock whenever I walk outside. I'm learning how to navigate dirt roads with large vehicles. The other night, a lightning storm that looked like flashing lights outside the window woke me up. I saw what looked like clouds funneling into a tree yesterday. And heard a country rendition of Mercy Me's I Can Only Imagine at the Christian coffee shop down the road. I made fry bread. And now I'm going to pick up some buffalo meat from the tribe's buffalo herd. Wooo!
Finally, if anyone is interested, you CAN actually write to me while I'm here (and I'll be here for a while, so please do!). You can send mail/packages to:
Jamie Chen
c/o Re-Member
P.O. Box 5054
Pine Ridge, SD 57770
:D
The anniversary of the Battle of Little Big Horn (otherwise known as Custer's Last Stand) is tomorrow. I don't think we should hold eternal grudges or get caught in perpetual reminiscing and regretting, but I do think that we should seriously consider how past actions affect present lives. Are we responsible for our ancestor's actions? Why must the oppressed (oof, loaded word) be responsible for dealing with the actions of their ancestor's oppressors?
On a lighter note, being present also means being present. I'm finding that when you wake up really early in the morning, say, 5:45 a.m., you can really only focus on what you're doing at the moment. I had an intense towel folding session yesterday morning.
Also, I'm getting to know my way around the reservation and it only gets more beautiful. The sun is a brilliant shock whenever I walk outside. I'm learning how to navigate dirt roads with large vehicles. The other night, a lightning storm that looked like flashing lights outside the window woke me up. I saw what looked like clouds funneling into a tree yesterday. And heard a country rendition of Mercy Me's I Can Only Imagine at the Christian coffee shop down the road. I made fry bread. And now I'm going to pick up some buffalo meat from the tribe's buffalo herd. Wooo!
Finally, if anyone is interested, you CAN actually write to me while I'm here (and I'll be here for a while, so please do!). You can send mail/packages to:
Jamie Chen
c/o Re-Member
P.O. Box 5054
Pine Ridge, SD 57770
:D
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Vast
When I said "vast future," I meant that literally. The land here is endless. They just ended a nine-year drought, so the hills are greener than ever, and it is gorgeous. I can't stop looking at the sky!
So I have arrived, no mishaps, took a drive through the Badlands and met with the Executive Director of Re-Member about what I'll actually be doing here. Tomorrow the fun begins: I'll be meeting in the morning with a woman who is helping to coordinate a housing summit, and making some rounds to some other community advocates.
Wake up times are 5:30 a.m. But the sunrise will be worth it.
More interesting things to come... just wanted to say I've successfully escaped the east coast and am living on Lakota land, sharing space with buffalo, coyotes, and lots of eager volunteers. !!
So I have arrived, no mishaps, took a drive through the Badlands and met with the Executive Director of Re-Member about what I'll actually be doing here. Tomorrow the fun begins: I'll be meeting in the morning with a woman who is helping to coordinate a housing summit, and making some rounds to some other community advocates.
Wake up times are 5:30 a.m. But the sunrise will be worth it.
More interesting things to come... just wanted to say I've successfully escaped the east coast and am living on Lakota land, sharing space with buffalo, coyotes, and lots of eager volunteers. !!
Monday, June 1, 2009
we live in a beautiful world
In the rear-view mirror suddenly
I saw the bulk of the Beauvais Cathedral;
great things dwell in small ones
for a moment.
[Auto Mirror, Adam Zagajewski]
After fleeing the city in a small Cruiser packed with my college room in boxes and two very accommodating people, I feel like I am standing in a timestop, New York City looming like a patient, glowing vibration behind me and vast, unknown expanses before me.
I wrote this last summer, when I was caught in a much smaller world of travel between Washington Heights, Morningside Heights, east Chinatown, and occasional romps in other boroughs:
I love this city, and I love that it seems to take on its own character regardless of the people who build it and inhabit it and sweat through it and scrub its concrete and drown themselves in its supply of alcohol. I look up, see a view, and I think the city is quietly showing itself off. Yes, this is who I am, you almost forgot, didn’t you. I will push many of you away, to more peaceful suburban lifestyles, to space, to comfort, and then you will forget, but I will stay here, throw my buildings into the air, allow these metal vehicles to hurtle through my underbelly a thousand times a day.
And now I stand with this love behind me, facing this vague future armed with ideals, a sense of seeking poetry, and some mad paper writing skillz. I don't doubt that I'll find disillusionment and loneliness, but something is compelling me to go, to fail, to see, to learn what caring means. They say there are 360 days of sunshine a year in South Dakota. I'll find something on those bleached plains, underneath stars I can actually see.
This is just to say, I have left New York after four tumultuous years, and will be on the Pine Ridge reservation in South Dakota from June 21st through August 27th. I'll be interning at an organization called Re-Member (www.re-member.org), helping them with advocacy campaigns and youth outreach. On September 1st, I will be taking off for Lima, Peru, from which I will make my way to Chile, home of Pablo Neruda, the southernmost vineyard in the world, and penguins. Hopefully I'll be able to document some of my travels and thoughts in this blog, so follow at will. I don't doubt that there will be some random musings that will make it in here as well.
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